Chapter 4 - Fire and Lead
The night erupted into chaotic violence.
Before the first tactical mercenary could raise a weapon toward the porch of the east cottage, the treeline behind them lit up in a blinding flash of muzzle fire. Marcus and Dominic’s elite private reaction force—hidden in the elevated oak trees and historical outbuildings—unleashed a devastating crossfire.
Bullets chewed through the ancient bark and shattered the glass of the advancing syndicate mercenaries. Shouts of panic and pain broke out among Vane’s elite squad as men dropped like bowling pins, their night-vision gear short-circuiting from tactical EMP flash-bangs deployed by the Mercer guards.
Brooke froze, dropping her assault rifle as a hail of bullets splintered the wooden pillar inches from her face. "What is this? Where is backup? You idiots said the perimeter was clear!"
"The perimeter was never clear, Brooke," Dominic’s voice boomed from the shadows near the garden fountain.
He stepped out into the moonlight, completely calm, holding his sidearm steady. Behind him, Natalie and Noah were safely secured in the reinforced basement shelter beneath the cottage. Dominic walked through the crossfire as if taking an evening stroll, his black coat billowing behind him.
"You underestimated how long I’ve owned this town, Brooke," Dominic said, closing the distance between them.
Panic seized Brooke. She scrambled backward on the muddy gravel, her manicured fingers scraping against the dirt. "Julian! Julian, help me!" she shrieked toward the marina road.
From the fog, the deep roar of a high-powered speedboat engine echoed from the nearby cove, followed by the screech of tires as a convoy of black SUVs tore up the private estate drive. The doors flew open, and a tall, sharp-featured man with slicked-back dark hair and cold grey eyes stepped out—Julian Vane.
"Well, well, well," Julian sneered, adjusting his tailored Italian suit jacket despite the firefight raging around him. He raised a golden-plated Browning Hi-Power pistol, aiming it directly at Dominic’s chest. "Sentimentality really is a fatal flaw, Mercer. You should have just let my sister have the cottage and the port shares. Now, we have to clean up the entire estate."
Dominic didn't lower his weapon. He didn't even blink. "You stepped foot on Mercer land, Julian. That means your shipping empire, your assets in London, and your life belong to me now."
"Brave words for a man about to die in the mud," Julian laughed, squeezing the trigger.
Click.
Julian blinked. He pulled the trigger again. Click. Click.
The golden pistol didn't fire. Julian stared down at the weapon in sheer disbelief, his face twisting in horror.
From behind Julian, a low, smooth voice spoke up from the darkness of the SUV driver's seat.
"Nice gun, Mr. Vane," Marcus said, stepping out of Julian’s own vehicle with a smoking tactical disruptor in his hand. "Shame about the firing pin frequency jammer we installed in your convoy ten miles back."
Julian spun around in rage, but before he could swing his weapon, Dominic closed the distance with terrifying speed. With a single brutal strike, the butt of Dominic’s pistol connected with Julian’s jaw, sending the syndicate boss crashing unconscious into the wet gravel.
Brooke screamed, crawling backward until her back hit the stone wall of the cottage. "Don't touch me! Don't you dare touch me!"
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Dominic stood over her, his shadow swallowing her whole. He didn't yell. He didn't threaten. He just looked down at her with absolute pity.
"Lock them both in the estate shipping containers," Dominic commanded Marcus without looking away from Brooke. "And prepare the private jet. We’re taking a little trip to London tomorrow morning to dismantle the Vane syndicate from the root."
